


Who are you?

by Crisegna



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Ending, Blood, Bloodborne - Freeform, Gen, Hunt, Violence, Violent, explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crisegna/pseuds/Crisegna
Summary: Henryk and Father Gascoigne have to go for the hunt, once again. Everything is the same. Same beasts, same creatures, same people. Does it make sense to fight against something you can't win? Why shouldn't they just surrender? Is it family? Friends? Or something else...?





	Who are you?

            He’s never been good at farewells. A good bye kiss for his children and wife was enough for him. He would do this every night, every time he had to go for the hunt.  But tonight, his wife had a strong feeling that worried her. Right before stepping out the house, Gascoigne found Henryk. He had been waiting for his friend in silence. There was no hurry for going to the hunt. Not anymore. Gascoigne’s daughter, after heading to the door with him, looked at both waiting for a sign that would put her at ease. Henryk showed his teeth under his yellow cap, wrinkled eyes curved in a genuine smile. The little girl finally answered back with another smile and giggled when he caressed her cheek.

            “Remember to stay away from the window, Viola”, Henryk said, just like last night. After the warning, even though he had said it several times already, he remembered, “Light the lamp, check the incense…”

            “Come on, Henryk”, Gascoigne growled under the moonlight. The old hunter looked at him sideways, his hat creating a hair-rising shade on his face. His hand tightened around his saw cleaver. Something called his attention right away; also, he could see how Gascoigne had slightly tilted his head when his daughter started playing the little music box. Anyway, Father Gascoigne remained with his back turned until his friend met him outside the house.

            They remained silent for most of the night. There was only room for screaming, growling and panting. The town was full of beasts. One by one, they took care of them easily. Covered in blood, there was nothing that could tell them apart from beasts. Gascoigne’s axe made a raucous noise when he transformed his weapon and tore apart a semi-human beast. It was the last of them. At least for now.

            “I can’t see” Gascoigne mumbled, chopping the victim’s head, “why we have to deal with this anymore.”

            Henryk looked at him and the corpse. He kept chopping the body even though he was already dead.

            “Isn’t your family a good reason?” The old hunter always had leaned on his family, why wouldn’t he do it, too?

            Gascoigne snorted. “How haven’t you become bored of this?”

            “Gascoigne, stop talking nonsense”, Henryk was about to turn and continue with the hunt, but another axe blow kept him alert.

            “How” his voice became rougher.

            “This is no matter to become bored of”, his shoulders were tense, the grip on his saw cleaver getting tighter and tighter. “Sometimes you don’t need a reason. You just do it. This is our duty as hunters.”

            With another strident noise, Gascoigne transformed his axe and started walking away from the corpse. When he was going to go past Henryk, his friend lifted his saw cleaver and stopped him. “Do not hesitate,” he fixed his eyes on Gascoigne’s. They were fierce, bright and thirsty for blood. “Not tonight”. _Nor ever._ And he lowered the weapon to let him walk away without anything else to say.

 

            They were surrounded. The little werewolves managed to trick them, just like the hunters did another night with different beasts. Apparently, the small beasts learned their strategy and used this knowledge to take advantage. Henryk was keeping his head cool, working on a plan. He knew that the slightest mistake meant death, and so did Gascoigne. But he was more likely to lose his temper, which could end terribly. They swung their weapons, dodged their claws and killed some of the beasts. However, in one of the swings, a beast rapidly leaned forward and sunk its claw into Gascoigne’s thigh. He answered with a painful growl that alerted his friend. A sudden rush of blood made Gascoigne pierce the beast stomach and end with each of them in an insane speed. His movements were almost impossible for a human.

            It was just what Henryk had feared would happen. _Not again_ , he thought, without keeping an eye on him.

            “ _Remember_ , Gascoigne!” He raised his voice over the screaming of the werewolves. “You have to _remember_!”

            But it was too late. Gascoigne’s voice was already cracking, furious and frenzied. Deep inside of him, he knew. Gascoigne knew he had to remember. He had to make an effort and surpass the feeling that was growing inside him. But he could not bear it any longer. He had hesitated, just like that other night. And the scent of blood was too strong, too familiar. Too desirable.

            Henryk could hear nothing but the heavy gasping of his partner. His gaze was piercing. The old hunter, even after all those years fighting beasts, felt a shiver down his spine.

            “Go away”, he managed to articulate, obviously fighting his beastly side. Henryk vacillated.  “Away!” his voice turned into an incomprehensible roar that was enough to convince Henryk to leave that place. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t want to kill his friend.

           

            In a few hours, the night would end. The hunt would be over once again. Gascoigne had become himself again –or at least that’s what he thought. He was at the Tomb of Oedon. Deep inside of him he wanted to see his friend again, but he couldn’t tell why. He felt the urge to apologize, but didn’t know what for. There was nobody but some semi-transformed beasts. His axe felt heavier than usual, yet he killed every living form in the tomb.

            When he chopped in half the last one of them, he could see a woman. Blonde, delicate, beautiful. She was standing still, staring at him, and even though she looked calm, her hands were shaky.

            “Darling”, she started in a melodious voice. He could smell her fear. “I really hope that’s not your blood”, she giggled, obviously nervous. Seeing her husband covered up in blood never stopped to frighten her.

            Gascoigne didn’t answer. Instead, he approached her. He was annoyed. There was something familiar in her scent that was making him go mad, but he could not relate it to anything. “What’s that smell…?” he mumbled. _Who are you?_ A voice echoed in his head.

            “The night is going to be over soon”, her face started to mirror the true horror she was feeling inside her when he kept getting closer, hand tightened around Hunter’s axe. “I know you haven’t finished yet, but…” There was something she’d missed. She felt anxious, as if the floor beneath her feet was tearing apart. She didn’t have _it_. She’d forgotten to bring it. The little music box.

            Going backwards was dangerous; you could never know what could jump behind you in nights like those. Or, in her case, she couldn’t see there was no more ground to step on. She closed her eyes and shrunk her body as an instinctive reflex, but she never fell. Gascoigne grabbed her from the waist, Hunter Blunderbuss on the ground. _Who are you?_ The same rough voice of a confused hunter echoed in his head.

            “Oh, Gascoigne…!” the relief on her voice was heartbreaking. She hugged her husband not only because he’d saved her but also because she thought Gascoigne recognized her. Which wasn’t the case.

            He made a beastly noise. The kind that makes you shiver in horror.

            That’s when she knew he didn’t know her. He didn’t know his wife, nor his children.

            That night, the fever ended with the matrimony in the most tragic way that could ever happen. Dead by her husband. Dead by the father of her children. He hadn’t even trembled. His axe had sunk in her skin as if they melted together, as if they belonged together. Her body fell in a hard noise, her head cracking open against the ground. And still, even though his wife was already dead, Gascoigne kept questioning himself why he had grabbed her. Why would he?

_Who are you?_

            His heart was being ripped, but he wasn’t bleeding. Then why did it feel so bad? He didn’t know. Yet, he screamed, cried and rushed against everything he found on the Tomb of Oedon. Oh, _he knew._ _Now,_ he knew.

            Moments later, a hunter appeared. It wasn’t Henryk -- it was a foreigner. _Even foreign hunters know about it… my doom. My secret._ He looked at the hunter and felt the weight of his axe and the rough texture of his blunderbuss.

_Are you here to kill me…? Go ahead. End me._


End file.
